


and it's really not my fault if you're scared of me

by emmalauren



Series: drabbles/fluff/prompts [2]
Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: F/M, but the witching world is weird, prudence is gay, we love an independent shishtar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-21 09:41:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17041349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmalauren/pseuds/emmalauren
Summary: The Descension Ball is upon the young witches at the Academy of Unseen Arts. The only question is, will they survive it?





	and it's really not my fault if you're scared of me

**Author's Note:**

> i loved the christmas ep! psa: i actually wrote this a month ago, so this takes into account absolutely nothing that happened in the episode.

“Miss Spellman, this is quite unusual.” Father Blackwood sputtered, watching in astonishment as the young witch led a brown-haired man over the threshold of the Academy. The Weird Sisters rolled their eyes in unison, fed up with hearing their headmaster stammer his way through conversations. They were all about change, especially if it meant boys, even if this boy, in particular, was descended from a long line of witch hunters. He still raised Agatha’s hackles, but Prudence and Dorcas were much more relaxed about him - Prudence because she never lingered on one thing for too long if it didn’t concern her directly, and Dorcas because of his friendship with Nicholas.  
“Oh, don’t worry, Father Blackwood. I’ve cast a muffliato spell on him. Harvey won’t be able to speak a word about our Descension Ball to anyone outside the academy without tripping over his tongue, literally. Simple magic and he didn’t even know I did it.” Sabrina smiled proudly. At Harvey’s startled look, Sabrina cast him an apologetic smile. “Sorry, babe. Just a precaution.” Father Blackwood huffed but swept away, his cape brushing against the large satanic statue in the middle of the room, which Harvey eyed with uncertainty.  
“Harvey!” A new voice broke the tense silence, heralding Nick’s entrance. He was a striking figure in all-black, books clutched under one arm.  
“Nick! What’s up, man! It’s been a while.” Harvey greeted the new figure with relief, shaking his hand firmly. The Weird Sisters sneered in practiced unison.  
“Boys,” Prudence muttered. “Come, sisters. I’m sure we have something better to do than watch a mundane fumble his way through the Academy. I’m getting my dress fitted for the Ball in an hour, and Preston should be here just before dinner, so he can stay with us for as long as possible before he has to go back to his studies. I’d explain it to you, muggle boy, but I’m afraid your little brain wouldn’t be able to process it. Dorcas, Agatha, are you coming?” Her words were more statement than a question, but Dorcas smiled apologetically anyway.  
“I’ll be there in a moment, Prudence. Nicky and I have to talk about the dance on Friday.” She was itching to move away already, get away, but she held for a moment longer, watched Prudence scoff lightly and leave, Agatha following behind.  
“Sorry, Harvey. Gotta go. Dorcas here is dragging me to dance lessons. Descension Balls are a big deal for our coven, so I suggest Sabrina here follows suit.” Nick laughed, taking Dorcas by the arm and pulling her into a corner, hidden from the staff and students.  
“Nicky, not here,” Dorcas whispered lightly, pushing him back.  
“Ames, it’s ages until dinner. If I can’t kiss you now, I’ll go out of my mind.” Nick whined, sticking out his bottom lip slightly.  
“Nicholas Scratch, you have to wait.” Dorcas’ magic was an unusual breed, and incantations were less effective than emotions; her words forced Nick back two steps, pinning his hands to his sides. “Damn it! I’m sorry, Nick.” Dorcas’ hands flew to her mouth, watching as Nick struggled for a moment before relaxing, flexing his arms.  
“It’s fine, Ames. Really. After the Descension Ball, you’ll have a better handle on your magic, you can rename yourself as Amelia Blackheart, and you can finally kiss me. Properly.” 

“So, what’s up with those three girls with the matching dresses?” Harvey asked, leaning against the balcony railing and staring down at the dining hall below. Nicholas laughed.  
“Those are Sabrina’s witch best friends. They refer to themselves as the Weird Sisters. They are an unusual lot, to say the least, but very talented witches and gorgeous, every single one of them. Agatha is on the right - the one with the braids. She’s the middle child, you could say. Mostly mediocre compared to the other two, but unusually vicious. We murdered her once upon a time, and it was a bitch to bring her back.” Nick watched Harvey’s eyes widen, before remembering the precise reason they had murdered Agatha and hurrying on. “Prudence, of course, is in the middle. She’s the eldest, the most powerful, and the daughter of the High Priest of the Church of Night. She’s gorgeous, powerful, smart, and very...liberal in her sexuality. She was the last Queen of the Feast, which under no circumstances whatsoever do you bring up. Finally, there’s Dorcas. She’s the baby of the three, but make no mistake; she may be hot, but she’s evil. There’s also the fact that she’s probably the most powerful of the three.” At Harvey’s look that bordered on brain-melting, Nick laughed, the sound carrying, making Dorcas smile slightly and Prudence look around as if for a fly to swat. “I don’t suggest memorizing these names, by the way, Kinkle. The Descension Ball is an interesting tradition for our coven - it happens for witches only, as warlocks have a less… strict rulebook. Witches have the chance to rename themselves in front of their entire coven, and they claim all of their power from the Dark Lord. It gives them more control and access to some more unconventional magic. Witches must be accompanied to their Descension Ball by a young man of their choosing - in almost all cases, a warlock, although as Sabrina has proven, there is no law stating that the escort must be an individual of magical capabilities. They are then sworn to this young man for a period of six weeks, in which they must commit one of thirteen deeds, which include on the duller side of the spectrum, confessing true love. At the actual ball, the witches must complete thirteen acts, six of which their escorts must accompany them in.” At Harvey’s face, Nick laughed again, biting his lip as the people in the space below looked around in bewilderment; Prudence’s face darkening in anger, as her lipstick was now smeared irreparably.  
“Calm down, Kinkle. These “deeds” include a dance, walking her down the stairs, and a couple others. They don’t include any magic, so you can relax. The one thing you should know is that a witch’s new name cannot be revealed to anyone outside of her and her escort before the Descension Ball or her name can be claimed by the Dark Lord, and it will not grant her power. It’s only happened once in the history of our coven.” It was stated with a touch of emotion - beyond pride, but not quite a wistfulness.  
“Who was it?” Harvey asked, oblivious to the way Nick’s jaw tightened, his shoulder blades locking.  
“My mother.”

It was obvious to Dorcas the moment she entered the room she and Nick shared that something was wrong. Tension rolled off of his shoulders, skin stretched across flexed muscles. His knuckles were bloody, and a lightbulb lay, shattered, on the ground. “Nicky.” She whispered, crossing the room to him, laying cold fingers against his collarbone in an attempt to slow his heartbeat.  
“Leave it. I’m fine.” Even without feeling his pulse beneath her fingers, she could tell he was lying.  
“Nicholas.” She tried, raising her hands to his chin, trying in vain to turn his head to look at her before raising herself onto her tiptoes, her eyes meeting his.  
“I can’t do this, Amelia. I can’t take the woman I love into the same place, the same situation my mother was in, and watch her, knowing fully well that if I opened my mouth I would wreck your life forever. I watched my mother deteriorate for years after I was born - and she broke years before I was even an idea. But when I look at you,” His voice broke then, cracking with sheer emotion, making Amelia freeze in her place, hands trembling against his skin. “God, Ames, when I look at you. That day, when we left, and we went to the forest, and the light hit you - it was like watching winter turn into spring in a split second. All you had to do was look at me, and it was like flowers melting all the snow. You take away all the dark, and you give me hope. But look at us - fractured from the history borne onto us. We have an out, Ames. I just don’t know if I’m strong enough to take it.”  
And with that, they knelt on the floor and held each other, each expecting the other to cry, and unsure about the silence that approached when neither did. 

The morning of the Descension Ball arrived too quickly - the girls in their chambers, the boys in theirs, each practicing their own rituals, hands stumbling briefly on pearl buttons and black ties, feet slightly unsure in their steps to unfamiliar rooms at unfamiliar times. The girls rose, as usual, hair falling in waves of color, ranging from white to red to black. They rinsed under the fountain in the corner of their room, loose white fabric turning a shade more transparent under the magical droplets. Dresses for the occasion lay, freshly pressed, on beds, and the girls dressed in silent unison, lips moving to tie and fasten in the places they couldn’t quite reach. Their hair, normally combed, braided, and pinned in intricate fashion, was brushed in a pattern almost robotic, tresses shining slightly brighter with each stroke. No one noticed or simply ignored when each girls’ hands trembled slightly when slipping off their shoes, and no one cared as they all cast desperate, fleeting glances at their bedroom walls before being shepherded away. 

The boys, had the Ball been dedicated to them, would have completed their morning rituals in a similar fashion. Instead, Nicholas and Harvey woke up relatively late, the morning sun and a particularly insistent crow hammering on the window. A brief mumble came from the other side of the room - Prudence’s darling date, Preston Elmore, a descendant of some prestigious coven family, had arrived the night before and promptly drank through the entire Academy stash of sherry. Nick, however, hands still trembling from his anxiety of the night before, dressed quickly, foregoing his typical black ensemble for a tuxedo, trying in vain to tie his bowtie before eventually just using magic. His hands were still unsteady, and no matter how hard he tried to ignore it, the nausea was near overwhelming. 

It followed him like a shadow all down the hallway, blurring Harvey’s speech as if it was water in his ears, and then exploding, settling back down like feathers down his body as his eyes finally met Amelia’s. Rather predictably, she matched her sisters - it’s a conversation they had before, many times, as he begged her to help him understand why exactly she let them manipulate her. Her answer is simple, time after time. “Because they’re my sisters. Don’t think I don’t let them do it. I know that they do. The thing I hate more is that I do it to them too.” It caught his brain for a moment, spinning it around as he closed his eyes to remember the way her eyes had looked in the dim light of that night - but he brought himself back to earth more skillfully than he ever had before, examining her with wide-eyed boy wonder. Her hair, the same red he normally saw tangled between his fingers, was loose around her shoulders, floating like a burning halo around her head. The dresses she normally favored - either white and lacy or black and shorter than he was comfortable with - had been combined gloriously to create a black lace creation that brushed the floor. It was sheer in places, affording him glances of long legs and freckled skin, stretched across her spine and shoulder blades. Darker fabric swathed her front, cutting a striking silhouette that stopped everyone around her for a moment to take it all in. As he reached towards her, hands searching for something to ground him, tether him to their place just beyond Earth, Prudence stepped to her side, hands wrapped in a death-grip around a well-dressed bicep.  
“Sister Dorcas. I want you to meet Preston Elmore. He came all the way from Massachusetts to escort me at my Descension Ball. Father Blackwood arranged it all, especially for me.” Through the cloud of his nausea, Nicholas watched Dorcas swallow hard and smile.  
“Nice to meet you, Preston. I assume you’re attending Salem Academy of the Dark Arts?” It was polite, too much so for Nick to handle. He grabbed her arm, tried to pull her away, but she was stronger than her willowy frame would suggest, and held her ground.  
“No. I attend Yale - the mundane school. It’s very reputable, and they have a secret society almost like a coven. There are opportunities for witches and wizards outside of these...octagonal walls.” Despite the slur haunting his words, the spite was still there, and Dorcas went pale, her freckles startling.  
“If you don’t mind, Elmore, we need to go get the last few things ready. Sister Dorcas here is a bit busy today.” 

They had barely rounded the corner before Nick hit the floor, back hunched and breathing labored. Dorcas knelt in front of him, hands finding his face quickly, muttering magic with their foreheads pressed together until Nick couldn’t hear anything else but their breathing. She smiled at him softly, eyes searching his. “Nicky, you don’t have to do this.” She whispered, ignoring the faint strains of the violin that beckoned them. Sabrina and Harvey had already stepped onto the stairs, Sabrina’s red dress spilling down her body like blood. His breath was coming too quickly, the oxygen and carbon dioxide colliding painfully in his throat and making it impossible for him to speak. “Nick, breathe.” Dorcas was gone, discarded, for Amelia to take her place. Fresh air flooded Nick’s lungs, making him gasp. “Together, Nick, or not at all.” He could feel the music building, about to call her out, and he would not let her suffer alone as his mother had under all those bright lights.  
“Together.” 

It was a feeling everyone knew, an old acquaintance that was a strange presence. It was the feeling when you realize you haven’t been able to really breathe in a long time. It crowded Nick’s mind, spilling down his throat into his lungs and he choked on it slightly, stiffening beneath Amelia’s warm grasp. She smiled up at him reassuringly, before turning emerald eyes back to Prudence, whose hands moved with a decisive precision across the pages of the book in front of her, palm bloodied. Father Blackwood looked over her shoulder, smirking slightly as he read out the name on the page. “All hail Prudence Blackwood Night, Daughter of the Coven of Night and loyal servant to the Dark Lord.” It was the same tired words Nick had heard the past twenty minutes - first with Sabrina, his heartbeat pounding too loudly in his ears for him to properly hear, then with Amelia, draining the fear from him and into the floor. It had been the same with Agatha, normal as could be, and then, aside from Preston tripping over his shoelaces on his way to the dais, a fuming Prudence leaving him flat on the marble, Prudence’s going off without a hitch. Father Blackwood took the main stage, sealing the book in front of him with a silent incantation, consisting of mainly elaborate hand movements and a few eye twitches. It was humorous in its simplicity, the way they could reminisce on his previous panic. Nick smiled at Sabrina from across the room, mind still and calm, an unusual happenstance in the last few weeks. He knew what happened next - the rituals would begin, but the hard part was over, and the girls had officially claimed their power. There was no danger in speaking their names in whispered voices beneath heavy magic. Drunk with light, he drew Amelia to the side, brushing her hair, molten fire beneath his fingers, away. “My Amelia.” He whispered into her hair. He could feel her smile although he could not see it, felt the warmth radiate out from her. “I am yours.” It was a dangerous promise, but all at once he felt no hesitation.  
“And I, yours.”

**Author's Note:**

> so this is basically just a continuation of "you know that's bullshit" but it's all good! can also be read as a stand-alone. this took me forever to write because it's a long(er) one-shot, but i'm happy with the end result. 
> 
> As always, I am @emma-laurennn on Tumblr, so come find me with your thoughts, and all your opinions.


End file.
